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Obedience Training
Log Title: Obedience Training Characters: Dealiticus, Lockpick Location: Vilnacron Station Date: February 27, 2002 TP: Quintesson Invasion TP Summary: Recently purchased from bounty hunters, Lockpick finds himself the subject of alien "experimentation" at the tentacles of Dealiticus... Category:2002 Category:Logs As Logged by Dealiticus - Wednesday, February 27, 2002, 6:03 PM Back Room - Vilnacron Station ;Contents: * Dealiticus * Lockpick Lockpick is still strapped to the table as Dealiticus left him, optics dimmed. He hadn't given up... but it appears both in mind and body that he has. His energon levels were seriously low, making movements and thoughts sluggish and his strength pitiful. HE couldn’t escape like this. He needed to wait. Dealiticus hovers in, vocaliser making staccato digital noises that don't correspond to Quintesson or any language with which Lockpick is familiar. Lockpick flickers his optics a little bit, turning his head to peer at his captor, a trickle of fear... false fear, but a mask so deep it might as well be real... visible in those faded sea-blues. Dealiticus spins, presenting Lockpick with a different face. It smiles to itself, although with the face facing Lockpick, it's a bit hard to tell. Lockpick just lies there, not moving a single muscle, giving all appearances of fear, worry, and terror. Dealiticus hovers over to Lockpick’s table, tentacles fishing something cylindrical out of one of the many compartments built into its egg-shaped body. Lockpick turns his optics to watch Deal, glints of fear coming in as he shivers, pulling futilely at his restraints... "No..." Dealiticus hisses, "I see you've learned to fake humility." Lockpick blinks slightly, hardly a flicker of his optics and he grits his teeth again in anticipation of more punishment... Dealiticus hisses, "An important step in your new development." Lockpick doesn't say anything, optics still fearfully watching the face looming over his table, trying to ignore the ache in his arm-stubs and body. Dealiticus places another small cylinder near Lock’s current (of how many? ^_^) restraining bolt. It clamps onto Lock’s armour, burrowing into it slightly and linking into Lock’s nervous system like the others. The back of Lock’s missing right hand starts to itch. Weird. Lockpick twitches, clenching his jaw but allowing a whimper to escape. And yes, it's very weird, considering Lock has no hands. He twitches if possible, trying to fidget. Dealiticus watches Lock for a second, sensors built into the nearby face scanning Lock methodically. Lockpick grits his teeth, mind trying to twist the missing hand. A gasp escapes him as the neurals that once made his hand move spark a little bit in the stub, his optics flashing in sudden pain... "S... What... Are you doing...?" he rasps. The sensor-laden Borg-like face "grins" a bit more. Lockpick continues to squirm with discomfort, face tightening as he fidgets under his straps and restraints, a gasp accompanying each small spark explosion in his partial right limb. Dealiticus's expression doesn't change, but suddenly Lock’s senses begin to be overwhelmed by the sensation of *something* crawling all over and under Lock’s skin. Lockpick is watching Deal. He gahs as the sensation spreads, his squirming becoming more energetic, his optics flashing... oO (Oh Primus this is killing me... Please, make it stop...) he bites his lip, drawing mech-fluid from the force. Dealiticus's smile spreads, face creaking at the unusual expression. The Quintesson hisses, "Now. Today we're going to discuss obedience." Lockpick looks towards Dealiticus, still fidgeting wildly, hardly able to concentrate at all past keeping from crying out... Dealiticus takes a moment to dwell on the rare emotional reaction. Lockpick's jaw quivers with the effort, a small sound escaping his squirming body finally... Without a word or a gesture from Giger's Faberge egg, the squirming sensation recedes. Lockpick slows as well, lying there, exhausted. His optics dim a little bit as he stares at the ceiling, trying to keep from passing out. Dealiticus hisses, "I have become aware that due to your background, you have grown accustomed and immune to many of the finer applications of pain." Lockpick brightens his optics again, looking at Dealiticus with a knowing look... his mind had been invaded, memories seen by another. They flicker with momentary anger, but he hurriedly extinguishes it. Dealiticus hisses, "I can do a lot worse than hurt you, Lockpick." Lockpick blinks... his name... he'd forgotten what it was... "You... used my name..." he pants, almost questioningly. Dealiticus hisses, "Yes." It is the first time he's used it, obviously. Lockpick then asks, "Why?" Dealiticus hisses, "I found it amongst your files, and thought it the most direct way to communicate with you." This is quite an upgrade from referring to Lock in third person. Lockpick can agree, but he's also wondering what Deal was up to now... he's getting a bad feeling about this. Lockpick responds "I... See... " He pauses, gathering his strength. Lockpick asks, "What... is... yours..." Dealiticus hisses, "You may refer to me as 'sir' or 'Master'." The optics of Lockpick darkened again, obviously sending his thoughts into turmoil... submit, or be tortured more? He couldn't fight back... he needed energon to escape... so there was only one choice. "Yes Master." Dealiticus says cheerfully, "Excellent." Lockpick closes his optics, swallowing hard as he waits to see what Deal's next move is... oO (I swear, you'll pay for this, even if I die.) Dealiticus suddenly releases the restraints, and returns motor control to Lock’s body (well, what's left of it). Lockpick slumps to the table, shaking... the restraints kept him half-tensed to keep better control, and this was nearly heaven on its own. He looks towards Dealiticus, then lowers his optics away from the faces. Dealiticus watches Lock intently. Lockpick waits patiently, not even moving, not DARING to move without being allowed to... Dealiticus hisses, "Sit up." Lockpick sits up... slowly, his body creaking in protest after the long hours kept restrained in the same position. He grimaces with discomfort, then flinches as one of his arm stubs is pushed against as he gets himself upright, still keeping his optics down, refusing to let out any sort of sound. Dealiticus pushes at Lock suddenly with its tentacles, trying to knock Lock sideways off the table. Lockpick ACKS at this, moving to catch himself... without a hand. There's a loud CRUNCH as his stub is crushed against the table top on his way down, a cry of pain emitting... quickly lowered to a quiet level by his vocal-restrainer and he slumps, shaking, trying to stand again. Dealiticus hovers around the table, to watch as Lock struggle to his feet. Lockpick looks up, glowering for an instant before he forces his anger away, a little mech-fluid dripping from the wound in his lip as he stands weakly, legs shaking with weakness and the effort. The Transformer wobbles, and he ponders leaning against the table. Dealiticus's joy at Lock’s humiliation fades, and he watches Lock analytically. Lockpick grits his teeth, knowing he can't lean against anything without permission, watching Dealiticus quietly... he ponders over different ways of killing the five-faced freak to take his mind off his fatigue and starvation, with limited success. He wavers on his feet, nearly falling. Dealiticus scans Lock, monitoring Lock’s efficiency under stressed conditions and minimal fuel. Lockpick watches still, waiting Deal out, refusing to give in. His knees ached, as did most of his joints and he slumps forwards slightly, finding a little relief and fuel-saving in that motion, optics squinted up in the effort to remain upright... Finally though, he can't take any more... "Master... orders?" Dealiticus hisses, "Ah. Old training surfaces again. Walk this way..." It hovers away from Lock, and out of the room as the door hisses open. Lockpick nods quietly, keeping his optics down. He takes a deep breath, stumbling after the Quintesson, nearly falling several times and he ricochets off the doorframe, a small grunt of pain coming from him. Dealiticus hisses, "Mind the walls." Lockpick nods again, gritting his teeth... oO (I really really hate you...) "Yes Master." Dealiticus of course has eyes on the back of its head (and the side, and...) and watches Lock as it floats ahead, past shelves of tools, parts, and weaponry. Lockpick flicks his optics to the shelves and such, recording everything, trying to take his mind off his screaming muscles that just wanted to collapse. Magnetic alarms and automatic forceshields protect the weaponry and parts stacked in shelves along the hallways. Lockpick also records the route they're taking, learning more about the layout of the base as he struggles to keep up. Dealiticus doesn't slow, forcing Lock to hurry. Lockpick grits his teeth, doing his best, but eventually starts to fall behind. Dealiticus stops suddenly, and blasts Lock with a massive dose of electricity, straight through Lock’s nervous system. Lockpick screams at this sudden dunk into agony, dropping to his knees, then toppling to his side against the wall, body shaking, optics flared white as he convulses against the bulkhead. Dealiticus hovers towards Lock, pouring on the electricity, really overdoing it. Protective fuses pop and sputter, and internal wiring melts under the strain. Lockpick writhes, cutting his scream off through sheer willpower... don't give him the satisfaction... don't give him the satisfaction... his body slams into the metal repeatedly, chips of armor falling off as smoke pours from his wounds, seams, and joints, back arching as his wrist-stubs explode in showers of sparks. Dealiticus lays in on a bit longer, risking permanent damage. Not as if this toy cost much, anyway. Lockpick sobs aloud, still struggling to keep his vocal unit under control, starting to leave little dents in the wall from his bucking, smoke billowing out of his mouth now, and the smell of melting, burning plastic. Dealiticus finally relents, pausing to recharge its taser batteries. Lockpick falls limp to the floor, gasping, optics flickering as he nearly goes unconscious again, body shaking as smoke continues to pour from him. He twists, looking up at Dealiticus with a pleading look... "N... No more... " Dealiticus hisses, "Do try to keep up in the future, hm?" The alien spins, presenting Lockpick with a different face. Lockpick shivers and nods without saying anything... biting his tongue... must submit, must submit.. He lays there a few more minutes, then forces himself upright slowly, falling to his knees once or twice, but the threat of punishment keeps him trying. Dealiticus watches with an air of increasing boredom. It hisses, "Do hurry..." Lockpick shakes again, finally standing upright, although he can't help but lean against the wall, breath coming in puffs of smoke as he waits for Dealiticus to lead him on to... wherever. Dealiticus charges its taser again. Lockpick GAHS and drops to his knees again, curling up at Dealiticus... lack of feet as he shakes again, head whipping back and forth. Dealiticus seems to ponder a moment, as if trying to determine if Lock’s worth another blast of electricity... Lockpick groans, slowly, painfully trying to regain his feet again, hands... well, arms... wrapped around his midsection as though trying to hold himself together. Finally he stands, although for how long is hard to tell. Dealiticus flicks out a tentacle, toppling Lock back against the wall again. Lockpick gurks and stumbles, frantically trying to keep from brushing against the wall, and he ends up rebounding off it, stumbling to a halt in the middle, watching Dealiticus fearfully... Dealiticus hisses, "Get up." Lockpick nods "Yes... Master..." he says, voice harsh and dry as he forces himself upright again, hunched over from agony, one foot moving back and forwards to keep him from falling again. Dealiticus spins, presenting Lockpick with a different face. He scans Lock, assessing the damage done by the electrical current. Lockpick stands, wavering still as he waits for Dealiticus to proceed, char and mech-fluid dripping from his stumps... he rapidly tries to stop the flow though at seeing the drops fall onto the floor, but his body wasn't working too well, halfway between burning agony and painless numbness. Dealiticus hovers away from Lock, expecting to follow. Lockpick forces himself into motion, more falling than actually walking forwards, again wondering what their destination will be... and if he would survive it. Dealiticus goes through yet another blast door, and into an observation room. Lockpick blinks, peering around, trying to see past the fuzziness in his optics as he stops just inside the door, uncertain of what to do now... then he forces himself forward quickly to avoid falling behind. As Lock emerge through the door, Lock’s confronted with a panoramic view of Earth spinning above Lock. It's beautiful and blue, and almost painfully bright after all Lock’s time in detention. Lockpick blinks and squints, looking away slightly from the huge ball beneath them...oO(Still in orbit... but what planet? I've never seen that one...) he says, trying to look back, but again the brightness forced his optics away again. Dealiticus, reading Lock’s mind, says, "Earth. There are Autobots there. Should you serve me faithfully long enough to repay your cost of acquisition... you may be sent there, and released." Lockpick flicks his optics to Dealiticus, unsure, untrusting. The Beltegeans were bad... he knew the Quintessons couldn't be much better. He wobbles on his feet a little bit more, then can't help but ask "May I... sit, master?" Dealiticus spins, presenting Lockpick with a different face. It hisses, "You may, briefly." Lockpick nods again "thank you Master..." he says, slumping to the floor... kneeling almost, in front of the view of earth, his mind wheeling... Autobots are there? How could he be sure? But then... they had spoken with him on the radio, so they had to be SOMEwhere nearby.... He pulls in a breath. "How long is... service?" Dealiticus hisses, "That depends on your quality of service, and the cessation of repeated attempts to escape." Lockpick swallows hard at that... so the harder he worked, the sooner he'd be out... but he asks "What would... keep you from... breaking your word?" very carefully, daring to look up at Deal's current face. Dealiticus spins, presenting Lockpick with a different face. It hisses, "Nothing. All the more reason to stay on my good side." Lockpick flinches a bit, nodding at that... he glances to the window, then back again, wanting to just slump over and pass out... but then his optics turn to the taser control, and he forces himself to keep awake... just a little bit longer. Dealiticus hisses, "Back on your feet, slave." Lockpick blinks, then starts to stand again slowly, legs creaking audibly and the small rest did him a little good, although not much. At least he stopped smoking. He stands there, still wavering a bit, waiting for a command. Dealiticus hisses, "Back to your table. You seem to have injured yourself." It hovers out of the room, waiting this time for Lock to follow. It keeps its taser handy! (Well... tentacly…) Lockpick flinches a bit, but nods, stumbling after Dealiticus... optics on that taser... oO (Can't fall... can't fall... Oh Primus I gotta eat...) Dealiticus waits 'til Lock’s out of the room, view of Earth sealed behind Lock, and begins leading Lock back through the maze of corridors to the examination room in which it's been keeping Lock between escape attempts. Lockpick follows as best he can, managing not to hit any but one wall. Then disaster strikes in the form of a raised door bottom, and he acks, falling forwards with a clattering sound, bedazzled and stunned by the force of his landing... oO (Oh no!) Dealiticus taser-shocks Lock in punishment, but not as extensively this time. A reminder and a threat more than full punishment, it is quite painful nonetheless in Lock’s sensors-raw condition. Lockpick screams again, body spasming and that drives him to scramble to his feet, albeit he slips a few more times before actually getting up, optics wide as he stumbles forwards frantically. Dealiticus continues on, Lock’s pain inconsequential. Lockpick stumbles along, keeping his optics on what was ahead of him. Dealiticus returns to the side of Lock’s table, and waits for Lock to attempt to climb back unto it. Lockpick pauses at the side, staring at it, suddenly unable to make himself lay down on that cold, hard surface and no doubt be restrained again. His body shudders, knowing the consequences of hesitation, but nothing in his little-remaining mind would let him do that again, be willingly strapped down...oO (You can do it... done it before... ) he says, trying to make himself get up there... Dealiticus waits impatiently, tentacles writhing. Lockpick flinches at those tentacles, and gulps as he slowly reaches an arm over, trying to pull himself up and roll his broken body over into position, each motion painful and sluggish, his breath coming hard as he strains to keep from falling off. Dealiticus watches Lock’s painful attempts coldly, mentally evaluating Lock and Lock’s reactions to its little experiments in alien psychology. Lockpick manages to pull himself up, facedown on the table, and he lays there, shaking, body cold as he psyches himself up to roll over... Dealiticus hovers a bit closer, watching with cold fascination at Lock’s attempts. He rubs two tentacles together, and seems almost pleased at Lock’s progress. Lockpick flinches as he puts a stub on the table beside him, feeling Dealiticus over him. (I'll bet you're enjoying this...) he thinks. He grits his teeth as he pushes down, finally rolling over... and nearly off the other side, but his ankle catches him before he slides all the way and he struggles to pull himself back on again. Dealiticus hisses, "Very good, Lockpick." Lockpick slumps back, panting, optics dimmed a little bit as he turns towards Dealiticus... "May I... refuel, Master?" he asks weakly. Dealiticus hisses, "I will see to your nourishment and repairs." He hovers over, reapplying the restraining clamps, magnetic locks, control bolt, etc, etc... Lockpick nods a little bit at that "Thank you Master." he says in a whisper, optics dimming again... flinching as all the restraining equipment is put back on... fighting his rising panic...oO (Stay calm... stay calm...) Dealiticus hovers over, opening panels and replacing shorted-out equipment with almost paternal care. Lockpick flinches and hisses a few times in pain as he's once more repaired, unable to move aside from his optics and probably his head as well. Despite the care taken as he tries to estimate how much power he'll get, and how to put it to use escaping... maybe that last radio call will bring Autobots... maybe it won’t... Dealiticus gets Lock functional again, and gives Lock enough energon to continue functioning... and not much else. Lockpick doesn't react as he feels the influx of power, trying to fake being weaker than he was... trying to leach more energon to escape... Dealiticus isn't fooled, as he monitors Lock’s total energy level carefully. Lockpick doesn’t know this as he tries to mentally force his body into shutdown, trying to fake energon fugue... he's done it before... although not as well monitored. Dealiticus hisses, "Still the attempts at deception, eh?" Lockpick opens his optics to mere slits, knowing the game was up, and wondering what the punishment would be this time... he trembles a little bit. Dealiticus closes a panel, retracting its tentacles. Lockpick continues waiting for it... not even breathing a sigh of relief as the tentacles are moved away. Dealiticus smiles at Lock. Soundlessly, the crawling sensation returns. Deal turns to leave, switching off the light, as the sensation increases... Lockpick blinks a few times as he starts to squirm again, optics widening in the dark as he felt like thousands of insecticons crawled across him, a whimper soon coming from the mech. Dealiticus leaves Lock in the dark, to enjoy the sensation until he returns... Category:Quintesson Invasion TP